Tears of Blood, Ch.4

“Good morning, Veronda” Ben said with a smile, entering the King Street Police Station.

“Mornin’ hell, it’s 10:00. I’s been here since seven,” she said, buzzing the door to let him in to the offices.

“Is that you, Ben?” Aubrey yelled from the back.

“Yup. Where are you?”

“All the way in the back: In the darkroom…drying some copies of Wilcox’s photographs. I’ll be right out.”

By this time Ben was standing in Aubrey’s cubicle. “No hurry, I’ll just look over this autopsy report here on your desk.”

“Dat was one sick puppy, Detective Dawson,” Veronda called out.

Ben read on and found out what she meant. The x-ray of the decedent showed a hand-blown glass dildo in his rectum, and DNA evidence on his penis indicated active anal intercourse. Ben looked up at Veronda and raised his eyebrows.

She looked at him in a blank stare. “Guess he couldn’t make up his mind.”

“Here ya go, Ben, I made you a folder with a copy of the autopsy and a full set of pictures,” Aubrey said, walking from the back and carrying a manila envelope. “Where is Ray?”

“I made the mistake of parking near the Harley-Davidson dealership. He gets a tee shirt from one of them every place he goes. We’re going to head on over to that restaurant I told you about, then rest up. I want to hit both of those bars tonight, so we won’t be in till the sun comes up.”

“To be young again.”

“Aub, you are only ten years older than I. Half the guys there tonight will be around your age.”

“The problem is there will be no women about my age…or any other age for that matter.”

“That is one of the benefits of a men’s bar,” Ben laughed, and waved good-bye to Veronda on the way out.

Ray was almost to the station when Ben met him and inspected his partner’s purchase: The mandatory shirt, and some boxer shorts he bought for Ben.

“Baby, you know I never wear underwear.”

“But there is a lock-up party at the bar tonight…boxers of briefs only.”

“Well then things are looking up for this evening. Ready for some lunch? I trust you remember the directions.”

“I’ve already seen it, it is only two doors down from the Harley shop.”

“Well done.” Ben said, and the two enjoyed the short walk to the bistro while Ben filled Ray in on the detail he learned from the report and corresponding photographs. They settled into a corner table and were greeted by a waiter that knew they weren’t local, thus pouring on the Charleston charm. Once they had placed their orders, they quickly got their minds back on the case.

“Remember that déjà vu you had when you stepped on the pistachio? There is something similar about that phrase hand-blown glass dildo. They aren’t a common item in an adult store, but I know I have heard something about them.

“Probably from some trick,” Ben said, dryly. “Here comes the food, and our chance to show the pictures to the waiter.”

Once the food was delivered, Ben introduced himself and told the waiter he had a very sensitive photograph that wasn’t the most appetizing to be passed around an eating establishment, but could use his help. One at a time different employees all visited his table, but none knew the dead man. Ben and Ray were a little disappointed, but didn’t expect to hit the jackpot at the first place they went for information. The remainder of the day was filled with a little shopping and a lot of resting in preparation for the night ahead.

Around nine that evening they began getting ready to go out, which entailed more than a quick shower. Leathermen are meticulously clean, and their clothes are always in perfect order, the leather cleaned, the silver trim work polished, and a strict necessity is that their boots be in new condition. In all most every Dominant/submissive relationship, this cleaning ritual falls upon the latter, so Ray was busy at these tasks the ‘subs’ describe as joy in pleasing their Master, rather than a chore. By ten they were ready to leave, looking similar is black leather from head to toe, with only minor differences: Ben in a Master’s motorcycle cap and his wristband on the left, while Ray donned a leather baseball cap and his cuff on the right arm.

“Good evening, gentlemen, you must be from out of town,” the doorman said. “Welcome to The Fort. Glad to have you here!” The coat check wasn’t used for jackets, but like most Leather bars it was a place to leave a bag with your boxers of briefs that were changed into when the bar closed. At that time the doors would be locked and nobody else would be allowed in, and when one left they were not readmitted. Normally these are ‘flashlight events’, where all the lights were shut off and little pocket lights were given out for aid in finding your way when walking to the bar or restroom. Needless to say there was a good reason for having the lights out, for after awhile the boxers or briefs were non-existent, and the sole piece of clothing was a pair of pristine boots. After a few drinks, Ben spotted somebody: A great looking guy, but he was also a familiar looking guy. After tracing his mind he remembered him as the witness from The Battery, and Ben decided he deserved another talk.

“Good evening,” Ben said to the Marine-looking guy also wearing the telltale signs of a Dominant. This would make the conversation easier for business talk, plus the fact that showing the Old Guard signs meant the man would follow all of the tenants, one of them being he couldn’t lie, especially to a fellow Leatherman.

“Hey. Did you ditch that guy?” he said while pointing with a nod of his head to Ray.

“No. He is my partner…in life and work. I am Detective Ben Dawson and that is Detective Ray Lanier. We are here in Charleston working the case you were interviewed about today. I’m sure you noticed the tattoo over the stiff’s goodies. You sure you can’t tell me anything about that?”

“Let’s go out back.” As he led Ben through the bar, the Detective motioned for Ray to join them. Once on the patio Ben asked if the young man felt comfortable talking with Ray there as well. “Sure, he will find out in the records, and probably in the sheets as well,” he said with a sly grin. “My name is Manuel Castillo. I have been torn between the meanings of honor all day. I know it against all I believe in to lie to you, but are you familiar with the Citadel? We have what we call a ‘Code of Honor’. Just as with the Old Guard Leather rules, this is a pledge with that set of brothers. Detective, that dead guy is a fellow cadet.”

“And if word got out he was gay it would look bad on his family and the school, I get it,” Dawson said.

“Sir, he wasn’t just gay, and he wasn’t just into the SM scene. I know men in the scene never tell anyone about another brother being in the scene… Sir,” the cadet paused looking up at blankness, “he was a prostitute.”

“I know how hard this is for you, and out of respect for our type of honor, I will not use your name in any report. I will need it and a number to contact you, but will keep it in my wallet, and not in any file. I respect you for this,”

“Thank you, Sir. I don’t see how those guys take it for so long, a life of no love. Thanks again, Sir.”

“Hey, Manuel, you’re a Master, too. You can drop the ‘Sir’,”

“Not when I respect a man as much as I do you after our conversation.”

Ben turned to Ray and with a comical, pleading look asked, “ Can we take him home, puleeze?” he laughed. “Seriously, if there is anything I can do to help you I will, and hope that works the other way as well.”

“You can bet it does,” he said reaching in his jacket for a pen and one of his own personal business size cards. “Here is his name, and my dorm room number on the back. If you call and I’m not there, just tell my roommate you are from Blockbuster. I never use them so I know it will be one of you.”

“You’ve got a deal, Manuel. Now let’s buy you a drink,” Ben said and spent the rest of the evening with Manuel and Ray, as they all three enjoyed the lights out policy the club had for the night.